


What Happens At The Retching Netch...

by NorroenDyrd



Series: All That Glitters [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cleansing the Stones quest, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Dragonborn DLC, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, F/M, Hangover, Memory Loss, Mild Smut, Mind Control, Minor Original Character(s), Nausea, POV Minor Character, Protectiveness, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Raven Rock, Regret, Retching Netch Cornerclub, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It pains Geldis Sadri to see Bralsa Drel drown her sorrows at his cornerclub. Not the least bit because he is in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens At The Retching Netch...

**Author's Note:**

> I included this into the All That Glitters series because Aredhel and Lydia make a cameo appearance, and there are some references to Aredhel's feelings towards Ralis.

Why was the sujamma always gone? Whenever, with a long, dazed blink, she looked at the glass clasped in her hand - the sujamma was always gone. Save for a few droplets rolling around on the very bottom, seeming to form a face with two narrowed eyes and a crooked smile. Mocking. Teasing.  
  
Damn it all - she needed that sujamma! More sujamma! Much, much more! She was not even close to that comfortable, cozy state when she sort of floated out of her own body, leaving it way, way down below, at the long, wavy counter which rippled across the spinning inn... and when, for a moment, for a happy, joyous moment, she almost believed that with her physical form, she was leaving behind all her troubles. When the thought that she was nothing but a worthless wretch without a purpose in life - this relentless bloodhound that kept sniffing out her trail, catching up with her and sinking its teeth deep into her brain - fell back into a dense, milky haze. When she forgot that she was Bralsa Drel, a master miner whose skills were not needed, the ebony deposits having long since run dry; whose pick was lying around in a grey net of cobwebs somewhere in Alor's pawn shop; and whose pride and dignity had been trampled into dust by the indifference of the accursed East Empire Company.  
  
Gods - she needed to forget! Because if she did not, even for a brief, fleeting, heavenly fraction of a second, her heart would plummet down into the terrible gash that had opened inside her chest on the day she lost everything... a deep, dark gash, bleeding at the edges.  
  
She needed to forget. She needed that sujamma.  
  
'Refill,' she belched loudly, thrusting forward the hand with the glass.  
  
But no refill came. No delightful, trickling, mouth-watering sound caressed her hearing; no sparkling liquid lapped impatiently against the edge of her glass, begging to be tasted. Instead, five long ashen fingers closed gently round hers, and a lowered, husky voice said,  
  
'Please, Bralsa. You have had enough. It is barely mid-afternoon, and you are already drunk'.  
  
'Not as drunk as I wanna be,' she retorted thickly, squinting her eyes to focus on the fingers' and voice's owner.  
  
It took her a little while, but finally, she was able to identify the red-and-grey shape, leaning towards her across the counter, as that blighted innkeeper who had the nerve to tell her, again and again and again, how she should spend her money. Geldis Sadri. Because of the woeful lack of sujamma, she was still seeing only one of him... thank the gods for that, at least; she did not know if she would be able to stand the sight of three Geldises, grabbing her by the hand and lecturing her on mid-afternoons or whatever it was.  
  
Although... Now that she thought of it... It was a hard task, what with her brain slowly drifting apart into several wobbly, scrib jelly-like pieces - separate islands that she could barely control... But she still managed to think... Yes - a triplicate of that chiseled, lavender-tinted face, with quite a decent nose curve and chin outline, wouldn't be half as bad... As long as all three Geldises kept quiet, of course, and did their job of pouring her drinks and pleasing her eyes.  
  
Something small and warmish spluttered down onto her knuckles - and with a start, she discovered that the thought of a triple Geldis hovering before her, so very delightfully serviceable, had made mouth fill with prickling, bittersweet saliva. That was... just a bit on the awkward side; but she was too tired and dazed to feel embarrassed.  
  
And in any case, the innkeeper must have mistaken her drooling for an urge to get more sujamma - for he repeated, quietly, but firmly,  
  
'You have had enough, Bralsa. I am sorry - but I won't be serving you any more sujamma today. Not even if you shove all that gold of yours down my throat'.  
  
Slowly, like the milky veil of morning mist, the vision of Geldis triplets started fading away, and the roseate dreaminess, which had begun to wrap itself round Bralsa like one of those soft towels in fancy Imperial bath houses, was replaced by a new surge of frustration, making the hapless miner's innards clench tightly and her nostrils widen, letting out short, angry huffs of breath. That stubborn fetcher! What in Oblivion would make him give in?!  
  
Wincing with the strain of keeping her floating brain islands huddled together, Bralsa went through the list of strategies she had already used in the past when she and Geldis went through the same routine. Neither grabbing that obstinate oaf by his red scarf, nor thrashing the furniture (or attempting to thrash it, anyway) had been particularly helpful; and she suspected that if she got on her knees and begged, she would not be able to get up again (and then, there was this humiliation part, but she had stopped caring about it long ago).  
  
Her lips twisting in a scowl, she looked up at Geldis - and had to squeeze her eyes shut and toss her head from side to side, stunned by the return of that thought about how absolutely delicious it would be if there were three of those lovely, neatly trimmed beards, and three of those sleek ponytails, and three pairs of eyes gazing into hers... And then, it hit her. In a sudden flash of inspiration, the quivering fragments of her brain all slid together and produced a most brilliant plan (or so it seemed to her at the time). Sweet Azura, that sujamma was this close to becoming hers! She could almost feel it giving the roof of her mouth that mischievous tickle. She just had to play it smooth... Really, really smooth...  
  
Lifting herself heavily from her stool, Bralsa dragged forward her limp - and, if you could put it this way, very unwieldy - body, the counter's edge pressing painfully into her stomach, and groped clumsily through the air about half an inch from the innkeeper's chest.    
  
'There are plenty of other things that can be shoved down your throat, dear Geldis...' she slurred, parting her lips in what was meant to be a suggestive smile and attempting to bat her eyelashes.  
  
The innkeeper did not seem too impressed by her advances; if anything, he looked sincerely concerned.  
  
'Bralsa, be careful!' he gasped as, on her way to stroke his beard, she knocked over a few glasses.  
  
Before she could even realize what was happening, the glasses rolled towards the counter's edge - and came crashing down, shattering against the stone floor with a deafening clamour. Thankfully, the Netch's regulars had not yet begun to gather round their usual tables; the cornerclub was completely empty, and the only person drawn to the noise was Drovas, Geldis' perpetually discontented apprentice. Surveying the wreckage with a heavy sigh that showed his complete and utter resignation to his cruel, cruel fate, he fumbled around for something to sweep up the glass shards - and then froze, just as he was, bending down, with his fingers closed round the broom.  
  
After several failed tries (each of them would make Geldis' pupils shrink more and more, till finally they were reduced to frozen pin points), Bralsa had somehow managed to dig her fingers into the innkeeper's scarf; tugging at it forcefully so that her stupefied victim almost ran out of air to breathe with, she had drawn Geldis close towards her and, just in time for Drovas' arrival on the scene, pressed her hot, wide-open mouth against his.  
  
Somewhere at the back of her head, where one of the scattered brain islands was still not soaked in liquor,  she scorned herself bitterly for stooping so low - all for a sip of sujamma.  
  
'Bralsa, Bralsa, Bralsa,' the voice of her conscience wept. 'What have you become? Are you really prepared to bed a man to make him serve you a drink?'  
  
But it was so quiet, that voice - barely audible, hopelessly lost as it wandered around through the drunken maze of her mind. She paid hardly any heed to it; ordering her cotton-wool limbs to obey her, she clambered onto the counter to get even closer to Geldis. Quite naturally, her crawl forward set off a new avalanche of bottles, tankards and plates, all of which landed at the feet of the gawking, statue-like Drovas, in a picturesque heap, like the spoils of a battle.  
  
Yet again, Bralsa did not care. Now that she had no counter in her way, she wrapped her arms round Geldis' shoulders, and kept kissing him - gasping, giggling giddily, feeling her stomach contract in a rush of elation, with a slight, spicy tinge of fear... at though she was whizzing down a snowy hill in a sled, like Nords are so fond of doing come wintertime.  
  
She could sense the wave of heat rushing from his face, which (as she noted during those brief spells when she tore her eyes open) was now almost the same colour as his scarf and vest. He was rigid as a wooden plank at first, not responding to the wild lashes of her tongue - but gradually, falteringly, he began to move his hands. His fingers - those delicate, alchemist's fingers which had so often tried to take the glass out of her hand - glided up her spine, catching hold of her hood and pulling it off.  
  
Then, Geldis apparently got completely carried away by the kiss (and no wonder; for all his polite friendliness, for all his genial smiles - he was still a Dunmer). His hand raced higher, stroking the back of Bralsa's neck, playing with a loose tuft of her hair... and making a tingle shoot through her skin that was far sweeter, far more poignant, than the tingle of sujamma coursing through her blood. Gods - and he tasted better, too! She did not even know that was possible... These days, it was hard to imagine that anything could taste better than liquor.  
  
For a moment, as Geldis' other hand slipped, as though by accident, somewhere into the midst of her rags, searching for the flesh underneath - and as she mimicked his gesture, her stupid, drunken fingers missing the fastenings of his vest every time she tried to undo them - Bralsa forgot all about her initial scheme. All about this being just a ruse to get Geldis mellowed enough to serve her a new drink. The sujamma no longer mattered. He did.  
  
Long ago, when the dark mass of rock deep below the town gleamed with raw ebony, like the starry skies at night, and her remarkable skill with the pickaxe was the talk of the whole mine - she would stroll proudly through the streets, a man on each arm, slanting her eyes slightly over her shoulder to see if the ladyfolk were watching. Almost every male mer in town had wanted her attention - the sight of a young, confident woman, not too bad-looking (before the drink got to her, she vaguely remembered actually smiling at what she saw in the mirror) and richer than Councilor Morvayn, would turn anyone's head. Longing to feast on her soft, ripe-plum lips (and on the sound of septims jingling inside her coinpurse), they had been at her beck and call, day and night.  
  
All of them - except that innkeeper, Geldis Sadri. Oh, that blighter always used the same even, amiable tone of voice with whoever came to his cornerclub - which back then had been nameless, the naked, singing drunk not yet having yet shared his bottle with an innocent, unsuspecting netch.  
  
Geldis' eyes never lingered on any particular member of his little circle of listeners when he would share his never-ending supply of yarns with them in the evening. He served his guests according to the sequence in which they placed their orders, never making any exceptions. From Councilor Arano to the greenest recruit of the Redoran Guard, everyone was equally welcome at the 'home of the finest sujamma to ever grace your lips'. Equally! And back in her glory days, Bralsa Drel, the greatest miner of Raven Rock, had not wanted equality - she had wanted special treatment!  
  
She had wanted that innkeeper to fawn over her, to dance attendance to her like everyone else. And the fetcher had refused to do it; to him, she had been just another customer, just a face in the crowd. By the Three, how his calm, habitual greeting, 'Welcome to the cornerclub, m'lady' had made her blood boil! She had been livid over the lack of attention from Geldis, mad as an alit with its tail stuck in a trap - until one fine day, she had been shocked to discover that her scorching inner rage had turned into a completely different flame.  
  
Sweet Mother of Roses, she had forgotten just how much she had yearned for him! How much she had had to struggle to conceal the urge that would make her bones melt away, like cubes of sugar tossed into a mug of steaming canis root tea, whenever she saw his face, whenever she heard his deep, growling voice... b'vek, whenever she as much as passed by that wretched cornerclub of his and imagined him moving about inside, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his nimble fingers darting from the ingredient shelf to the mortar as he worked on a new sujamma recipe.  
  
With her mind irrevocably flooded  by colossal tidal waves of alcohol, all that remained of that wild, lava-like passion (the kind of passion, they say, that only her Dunmer sisters are capable of), were blurred visions of three Geldises hovering before her stinging, unfocused eyes. But the kiss - ah, the kiss had brought some of that feeling back. For the first time in an eternity, she felt her battered, crippled heart spread its wings again - and soar, soar to impossible heights, as she tore away from Geldis' lips and saw him smiling at her... a dreamy, tender smile that made little wrinkles spread out of the corners of his eyes, like rays of warm sunlight.  
  
By the gods, she was kissing Geldis Sadri!  
  
  
By the gods, he was kissing Bralsa Drel!  
  
By the time she had eeled her way towards him across the counter, he was already almost as drunk as she was. Drunk with the thought that this was actually happening - that he was living the dream that had been captivating his mind ever since that pretty young miner had first sauntered into his nameless cornerclub, her head held high with the triumph of having struck a new ore vein. He still remembered the way her eyes had shined - so deep, so rich and pure in colour... Like a glass of fresh pomegranate juice, held up to the sun. And the reflection of their ruby glow had danced within his heart all throughout that day, and the next day, and many, many more days to come. But he had never had it in him to single her out among his customers, to start giving her tokens of affection - to let her know that he was in love with her.  
  
Before the mines had run dry, Bralsa used to have more admirers than all other female settlers and guardswomen put together. Suitors would crowd round her like guar round a herder, quivering with greed whenever she pulled out her purse. And he had been afraid - so afraid that she would think he was no different. That he was only after her gold. So he had deemed it best to keep his feelings a well-guarded secret; to hide a behind a smiling mask of the friendly neighbourhood innkeeper - hospitable, polite, eager to share a rumour or a couple of dozen... but little else.  
  
It had taken him a lot of effort - especially since apart from the affection and admiration he felt towards Bralsa, he had to conceal simple, down-to-earth physical lust, which would take his breath away whenever he caught sight of those swinging hips. But somehow, he had managed to control himself; as far as he knew, she had never suspected a thing.  
  
And then the mines were closed down, and Bralsa found herself in the street - by Azura, how he had longed to help her! To take her under his wing; to show her that her future could still hold a spark of hope, as long as there was someone who cared for her. But it seemed that the hinges of the cage where he had locked his heart, for fear of being mocked and rejected, had rusted with time and were now hopelessly stuck - for no matter how hard he tried, he could never get his feelings out into the open. He - he just did not know how. After all, it had proved a daunting task even for the brave, battle-hardened Captain Veleth - who was he to even attempt such a feat?  
  
And in the meanwhile, Bralsa kept coming to his cornerclub, which now bore the name the Retching Netch, and night after night, drowned her sorrows in drink. Watching her, as she sank deeper and deeper into the quagmire of misery, made Geldis' heart bleed - but the only thing he found himself capable of doing was trying to jerk the bottle out of her reach when she got too tipsy.  
  
She had always reacted so violently to his pleas to be moderate - but he would stoically endure all her indignant shrieks, and staggering punches in the chest, and the vicious lashes of her fingernails, his polite smile never leaving his face. He had thought he was prepared for anything she might throw at him (both literally and metaphorically)... until now.  
  
He did have a lurking suspicion that she was only kissing him because she was drunk, and in a desperate need to get even more so. But so what if the only thing on her mind was his sujamma? Sujamma did not matter. She did.  
  
With Bralsa grasped tightly in his arms, her flesh soft and fiery-hot beneath the thin layer of clothing, he did not give a damn about anything else, be it their awkward pose or Drovas with his broom, watching them with his lower jaw lost somewhere among the shards of crockery. The fellow could go to Oblivion (Geldis could bet that quite a few Daedra Lords were in urgent need of some house-keeping). B'vek, the whole world could go to Oblivion! He did not need it - all he needed was that wet, sujamma-scented mouth grinding into his.  
  
  
Her passion leaving her breathless, Bralsa had to break the kiss for a moment. Geldis smiled when she looked at him, finally daring to let his true self peek from underneath the mask - and she parted her lips to return his smile... But then, suddenly, her pupils dilated and contracted again; the colour ebbed away from her face, and she swayed forward, her head thumping softly against Geldis' chest and her throat's sinews bulging in a strained, choking cough. A cough that he knew only too well.  
  
Pulling Bralsa off the counter, so her soles scraped against the floor, and letting her lean against him, Geldis turned towards his apprentice and snapped sharply,  
  
'Don't just stand there, Drovas! Get moving! You are in charge of the cornerclub while I...' he made a momentary pause and then blurted out decisively, 'While I tend to a sick customer. Am I clear?'  
  
'C-crystal, boss!' Drovas stammered - and scrambled off (tripping over his own feet, for his vision was still obscured by the sight of his employer and that wretched drunk, absorbed in tonsil swordplay).  
  
Slowly, pausing after every step, Geldis led Bralsa into one of the cornerclub's unoccupied back rooms. She had hardly crossed the threshold when the coughing fit overcame her once again, making her bend in two and claw at her throat, her eyes rolling up and filling with tears. Geldis steered her carefully towards the bed as she groped around her blindly, her forehead filming over with sweat. When she sank onto the furs, pursing her lips and panting loudly through her nose to suppress another spasm, Geldis squeezed her fingers reassuringly and slid out of the door.  
  
Breaking into a run as soon as he entered the corridor, he made a beeline for the supply closet. A few moments later, he returned to where he had left Bralsa, with a bucket in each hand (one empty and one filled with water from the barrel that he and Drovas used to do the cleaning) and a sponge tucked underneath his arm. He had arrived just in time, too - judging by Bralsa's glistening, twisted face, she had been fighting back onsets of sickness with all her might, and would not have lasted much longer.  
  
He held her by the shoulders as she finally let the retching spasms overpower her, and the contents of her stomach came streaming down into the empty bucket, in a jet of dense, sour-smelling liquid. Three times, she folded herself up, as though her body was made out of melting wax, and spewed out a slurping mass of vomit. And three times, he stroked her forearms soothingly and used the sponge, which he had moistened in another bucket, to wipe her mouth and sweat-dewed forehead. Then, he filled his cupped hands with water and lifted them to her lips, so she could take a long, greedy drink out of them and chase the water from one side of her mouth to another, making it froth like sea foam. He repeated the procedure patiently, again and again, until she drew back with a shuddering sigh, indicating that she had finally gotten the foul taste out of her mouth.  
  
That job done, he brushed the sticky, wet hair strands out of Bralsa's eyes and handed her the sponge, closing her fingers round it by pressing at them gently with his.  
  
'Wash yourself while I am gone,' he said, trying to sound as light-hearted as he could. 'Get the rest of the liquor out of your body'.  
  
She nodded weakly, her eyes cast down. With one last reassuring pat at her shoulder, he swept up the used bucket and carried it off to the outhouse, where he emptied it in a single, loud splash.  
  
He had been an innkeeper long enough not to feel disgusted by the liquid that splurched about in the bucket in his hand. The only emotion that gripped at his heart on the way to the outhouse and back again was pity. Sharp, wounding pity for Bralsa. That poor, poor child was balancing on the edge of the precipice. He had to do something about it. It was high time he stopped sitting idly by and letting her drink herself to death. He had to try harder to reason with her. Have a heart-to-heart talk, for once in their lives. If only he could find the right words...  
  
'Bralsa,' he begun with a sheepish cough as he returned to the back room. 'Bralsa, I...'  
  
But he never got to finish.  
  
Bralsa had slipped off the bed and was now kneeling on the floor, her rags pulled off her shoulders and drenched in water, her fingers plunged deep into her hair, her elbows almost brushing against the stone - sobbing. Loudly, shrilly, uncontrollably, swaying her head from side to side and letting out spluttering hiccups in between her shattering wails.  
  
The sight of her, looking so small and helpless in the face of the whirlwind of emotion that had swept her off, made Geldis' heart and stomach rush towards one another, pressing closely together in a single aching lump. Staggering with shock and anxiety, he rushed over to her and lowered himself by her side.  
  
'What happened?' he asked shakily, stroking her chin so she would turn towards him. 'Please, Bralsa - tell me!'  
  
His touch seemed to have calmed her down, even if briefly; after a few seconds, she regained enough composure to wheeze out a reply,  
  
'I... I... started washing up, and I saw my reflection in the water, and...' she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, like a child. 'Look at me! I am no better than a beggar! Living in the streets, without a trade, without a purpose... Finding my only solace at the bottom of the mug... And you - you...'  
  
Something gurgled at the back of Bralsa's throat; she was beginning to cry again.  
  
'I licked you like a lowly hooker... I threw up in one of your rooms... And here I am now, sitting on your floor, bawling my eyes off... And you... Never... Never a harsh word... Why are you so kind to me?'  
  
Her voice abruptly rose to an almost hysterical pitch; she laid her hands onto Geldis' chest and stared intently into his face.  
  
'Tell me - why?! I don't need your pity! I don't deserve it! I know what I am - I have fallen far too low to ever crawl out again!'  
  
With those words, she burst into tears once more, squealing and groaning like an animal in pain. His chest clenching, Geldis tugged at the sponge, which Bralsa was still holding on to mechanically, and plunged it deep into the water. Then, his eyebrows knitted resolutely, he squeezed out the cold, refreshing droplets onto her swollen, blotched face and twitching shoulders. The sponge's icy caress made her shudder - but, as she shot a furtive glance at him from beneath her dangling, soaked bangs, Geldis could see in her eyes that she was now almost sober.  
  
He kept splashing water onto her till her skin began to smooth over; then, tossing the sponge aside, he gave her a tight one-armed hug and responded to her last tearful outcry with one short, quiet word,  
  
'No'.  
  
This made the tips of Bralsa's ears flare up with a bright pink flush - a sight that lit a dancing, happy spark somewhere inside Geldis' heart; swirling like a golden ember flake, it made its way rapidly up his chest and throat, till it sent an inebriating tingle through his tongue... And when it did, Geldis slid his eyes hallway shut, cupped his free hand round Bralsa's cheek and, before his stunned mind could register what he was doing, returned the kiss she had given him.  
  
He was slow and thorough, sampling her like one of his homebrew concoctions - not letting the thought that, barely half an hour ago, she had sat on the bed, vomiting into a bucket, mar the sheer, heavenly pleasure of exploring her mouth. He could feel no traces of her recent sickness, anyway; with his help, Bralsa had washed herself as clean as she possibly could.  
  
This time, it was Bralsa's turn to be taken aback. When Geldis was finally sated and decided to taste other parts of her face, she thrust forward her hand to block out the advances of his searching lips, and asked huskily,  
  
'What are you doing? You should be repelled!'  
  
Instead of giving her an answer, Geldis passed his tongue across her palm. If he could not find the right words to tell her how much he loved her - perhaps physical proximity would serve as a sufficient explanation? Maybe, after they were done, he could ask her to move in with him? Maybe then, she would understand that, as long as he was by her side, she had no need to drown herself in benumbing despair?..  
  
Going back to devouring her lips, Geldis pulled Bralsa, and himself, onto the bed, jerking his shoulder to get those darn clothes off himself already. She gasped happily as he slid his arm out of his sleeve and his bare skin brushed against her body. The second sleeve came off with her help; as did her worn, patched blouse with his.  
  
'Geldis,' she groaned, as he completely gave in to the call of his Dunmer blood. 'Oh, Geldis, Geldis, Geldis...'  
  
'Bralsa,' he replied chokingly, his ears ringing with the gleeful drum beat of his heart. 'Bral... saaah!'  
  
The last syllable erupted into a scream of pleasure - which was what Drovas heard when, his head swimming with orders from the gathering patrons, he darted madly across the cornerclub in search of Geldis, desperate for advice. He hovered for a few moments in front of the back room's half-open door, balancing a trayful of clattering dishes in his hands, one foot lifted into the air as though he was performing one of those elaborate High Rock dances; and then, he crept off, shutting the door tightly behind him and muttering through his teeth,  
  
'This place is getting way too crazy for me... Maybe I should move somewhere more normal - like Tel Mythryn...'  
  
***  
  
Well - this was it. The time had come. The fire within them had simmered down, and they lay side by side on the crumpled sheets, their naked bodies barely covered by the ruffled, sweat-drenched furs, Bralsa nestling her head on his chest. A perfect moment for pillow talk if there ever was one.  
  
He had to tell her. Tell her how much it hurt him, seeing her torment herself like she did; how much he wanted to help her - perhaps hint that he loved her? But what if... What if she pushed him away, saying that she did not need his charity; what if she laughed at him and said that it is a stupid innkeeper who tries to cure a drunk? What if she... she revealed to him that she did not care for him like he did for her; that he was no more than a hand that turned the tap to keep the liquor flowing? He would be unable to bear a brush-off like this; it would break his heart - which was already crisscrossed by bleeding cracks after watching Bralsa drink herself into a stupor...  
  
His hands and feet going numb with this sudden pang of fear, he hurried to turn his quiet 'Bralsa...' into a dreamy sigh; and just as he did, she stirred at his side and mumbled,  
  
'Geldis... I think I'm falling asleep...'  
  
His heart fell.  
  
In the past few weeks, falling asleep in the town of Raven Rock had been having most unpleasant consequences. You would awaken with your whole body sore and your hands covered in raw, oozing blisters, as though you had been doing some menial work; your head would be buzzing with snatches of odd dreams about some sort of stone (or pillar? or spire? no-one was ever quite sure), and you would forget what you had been doing before going to bed, sometimes losing track of several hours.  
  
This meant that if Bralsa drifted off now, she would have no recollection of their time together; it would all be lost in the murky waters of oblivion... It would mean nothing to her - and most likely, to him as well, as he, too, could feel the heady breath of sleep creeping up to him, warming his pleasantly exhausted body.  
  
They would go on with their lives as though nothing had happened - a despondent beggar, trying to wash down her bitter disappointment in life with torrents of sujamma, and a concerned innkeeper, trying and failing to keep her thirst in check. Perhaps it was for the best - this way, he would not ask himself those haunting, anxious questions about Bralsa.  
  
He would be better off not knowing. Not remembering.  
  
  
Perhaps it was for the best - this heavy, leaden feeling in the folds of her eyelids, dragging them down, making her eyes burn underneath. Perhaps it was for the best if she fell asleep right here, right now, and woke up in the lopsided shack she shared with Rirns, her every bone aching and her mind wiped completely blank - like it had been happening for ages now, regardless of where she dozed off, and of whether or not she was hungover. Perhaps it was for the best if she forgot all about this - this way, she would not have to wonder about Geldis. Why had he been so sweet and attentive, never, not once, displaying indignation or revulsion? Why did he care so much about the way she lived her wretched life? Did that mean he could actually... have feelings for her? Or maybe this was too good to be true, and she was just a dirty, drunken slut the respectable publican of the Retching Netch had suddenly, on the spur of the moment, decided to have a one-night stand with?.. A one-night stand he would later regret as the worst mistake of his life...  
  
She would be better off not knowing. Not remembering.  
  
'Sweet dreams, Bralsa,' his voice purred softly into her ear, as his lips brushed gently against her forehead.  
  
'Sweet dreams...' she replied, slightly tightening the grip of the arm with which she was embracing him. And then, following an unexpected impulse, added a third word - breathing it through barely parted lips, not really intending for Geldis to hear it... she would have gone mad with panic if he did.  
  
The word was,  
  
'Love'.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The Word lashed against the stone like a powerful gust of wind, making a low, growling rumble shake the ground and sending a rippling shimmer through the air, waking the slumbering shrine, changing it, bending it to its will. The Word was power; the Word was an order; it burned through the colossal structure that the thralls had been building, like they did every night, snatched out of their beds by the voice of their unseen master - and it made the ash-tinted rock burst into swirling golden flames and fall apart, cleansing the ancient sacred sight of the Skaal, and freeing, at long lust, the confused, hollow minds of the thralls.  
  
One by one, they fell back, away from the stone, dropping their tools and gasping for breath, as though they were stepping outside, into the bright golden light of a spring morning, for the first time after being trapped inside a stuffy, musty house all winter. A winter that had been far too long, and far, far too dreary.  
  
Their eyes wide open, their heads swimming, they staggered through ankle-deep water around the stone, and through the wind-swept ash, gaping at one another as though they had met for the first time in their lives.  
  
Here, a tall, long-haired woman, with her back proudly erect despite the weight of  thick, richly embroidered, fur-adorned robe, suddenly forgot about her dignity, and tossed herself onto the neck of a lean, stern-looking man in equally fine attire - weeping faintly,  
  
'Adril, oh Adril - is this nightmare finally over?'  
  
Stunned, slightly clueless, he lifted one hand awkwardly to pet her hair, and muttered, his voice hoarse and faltering as though he had been awoken abruptly from deep sleep,  
  
'Cin... Cindiri? How did we get here? I don't remember ever going to this place - or do I...?'  
  
And there, another woman, younger and more plainly dressed, staggered forward, in the direction of a small group of guards that were being told off by their captain,  
  
'You lazy louts! The Earth Stone isn't on any of your patrol routes! Have you been sneaking off to hide your Emberbrand stash again?'  
  
The young woman smiled - and as soon as she came within reach of the captain, stretched forward her hand and tapped her fingers furtively against his bonemould gauntlet.  
  
'Spare your wrath, Sera Veleth. We have all been tossed here, somehow... It is all very odd - but at least, for the first time in forever, I feel fully awake. Don't you?'  
  
The hulking, heavily armoured warrior choked on his vehement tirade and glanced at the small feminine figure at his side, his face rapidly flooding with a rush of tenderest, boyish pink.  
  
'I... I believe I do, Dre... Muthsera Alor,' he said, his eyes darting madly from left to right to check if any of his men had seen his blush. 'I believe I do'.  
  
And among all these confused, yet happy meetings, somewhere on the outer edge of the shambling crowd, on the shore's downward slope to the sea, the local innkeeper bumped into a swaying, wild-eyed woman who was rubbing her temples and muttering under her breath,  
  
'Where am I? What happened? I have lost my house, my family, my life... And now I've lost my mind...'  
  
They both started violently when they caught sight of one another - probably because he was wrapped from head to toe in a bundle of sleeping furs, his hairy chest peeking through the gap between them - and she was wearing nothing but a loose red shirt that was obviously too big for her: they must have tossed on the first things they could find, in a hurry to catch up with the rest of the thralls and set to the task of building their master's shrine.  
  
'Bralsa...' the man said slowly, his forehead creasing in bewildernment. 'Why are you wearing my shirt?'  
  
She opened and shut her mouth, fish-like, her eyes growing even glassier than they used to be.  
  
'I... I don't think I know... I can't remember...' she replied, wincing, as if in great pain (Gods, that damnable, damnable headache!) 'Before I blacked out, I can recall sitting at the Netch, wondering why the sujamma waz always gone - but that's it. Maybe you can rack your brain, Geldis?'  
  
'I will certainly try,' Geldis said, chewing at his lips with the effort of thinking (and trying to keep his eyes from sliding along the outline of Bralsa's bare legs).  
  
This had to be one of the most embarrassing situations he had ever been in. The furs were making him itch (and damn it all, so was the proximity to Bralsa!), and he found himself completely unable to focus. The memories of the previous evening kept eluding him, like some cunning beast of the wilds eludes a weary hunter. There had to have been something else after he passed a wet rag along the counter and leaned forward casually, waiting for his patrons to start arriving - but what?  
  
Curses, even Bralsa remembered more than he did, and she must have been deep in her cups, as usual... The poor, poor girl. Perhaps, he had given her his shirt because she had ruined her own clothing during a fit of sickness? B'vek - he had to remember!  
  
The innkeeper scowled in frustration  - and just as he did, the sky over his head, and Bralsa's, began to darken. Swirling, unnatural, green like fumes of some debilitating poison, the clouds obscured the pale morning sun, and as bright yellow lightning flashed somewhere within their billowing depths, like fox fire in a swamp, the sea underneath heaved, as though it were the chest of a man that had succumbed to a fever. Tall waves rose and fell, showering the shore with wispy flakes of foam - and from the middle of a frothing whirlpool, two tall, menacing figures rose; two guardians, summoned from the deep by Raven Rock's former master, who must have been enraged by his shine being destroyed. Towering what must have been eight feet above the ground, vaguely human-like, but with grey, slimy, disfigured bodies and faces like those of fish that dwell in underwater crags where the sun never reaches, they drew closer and closer, unstoppable like the sea itself.  
  
At long last, with a soft squelch, they put their heavy paws down onto the wet sand, and their shadows, outlined sharply by a sudden blast of lightning, stretched right to where Geldis and Bralsa stood, petrified by dumb, blank terror, not heeding the screeches of the panic-stricken crowd, which was rushing back towards the safety of the Bulwark.  
  
His eyes fixed on the advancing monsters, Geldis made an instinctive movement to draw Bralsa protectively towards him; she dove underneath his furs and pressed herself against his body, trembling from head to foot. This would surely have seemed more than inappropriate to any onlooker - but right now, propriety was the last thing on Geldis' mind as he stood rooted to one spot, preparing to face those creatures. Something was telling him that their best bet would have been to run, that they still had a chance - but he could not move. The sight of those beastly faces, those gnarled limbs, those dripping, slaughterfish-like teeth, rendered him completely motionless. And yet, small and naked and defenseless as he was, he still tightened his jaw and held his breath, his eyes glinting hard beneath his knitted eyebrows. So what if he could not run. He would meet them here. Mer to... thing. And he would fight them, if need be - though he had no idea how, never having wielded a weapon or spell in his whole life. He would keep Bralsa safe.  
  
Stopping a few yards away from the two stunned elves, one of the creatures stomped its foot on the ground - and at its command, the crust of caked sand and congealed ash cracked open, letting through a cluster of twitching, slithering tentacles - which wrapped themselves tightly around Geldis, tearing his feet off the ground and carrying him higher and higher towards the bubbling swamp of the sky, his furs sliding off and folding in a heap at Bralsa's feet. The green, slimy cocoon closed its grip round the wriggling, struggling victim, making him wheeze raspingly for breath, a narrow scarlet ribbon snaking out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Having thus disposed of one pathetic mortal, the two monsters loomed over Bralsa, who had finally managed to tear her eyes away from her hideous adversaries. Her fearful gaze was now chained to Geldis'; her pupils quivered in a deep, scorching sea of tears as she saw his eyes lose their expression, the disgusting tentacles crushing his bones and making his life force pour out, like water draining out of a cracked jug.  
  
And then, just as, with a staggering pang in her heart, Bralsa saw Geldis close his eyes and droop his head down onto the tightly locked tentacles, a blinding lightning burst shot through the air. It was nothing like the yellow flashes that kept piercing the sickly sky - no, it was pure white and crisp, like those jagged bolts that link the earth and sky during a summer thunderstorm, cleansing the heavy, sweltering air and leaving behind a wondrous freshness that you can drink in like water from an icy spring.  
  
Like a burning spear, the lightning pierced the chest of the monster nearest to Bralsa, while the other creature whirled around, clawing at its face, under a sweeping hail of arrows. Gargling something in a dark, evil tongue, either in pain or in anger, the monsters backtracked into the sea, painting the sand with their green, mucous blood.  
  
The arrows and blasts of shock magic kept chasing them all along the way, until the waves closed over the creatures' heads, shielding them for further harm. And when they did, the tempest died down, and the sky cleared (though on Solstheim, that term is very relative). And with a shrill squelch, Geldis' green binds retracted into the ash, making his body come plummeting down, lifeless as a flour sack.  
  
The tentacles had lifted him to a considerable height; he would have certainly cracked his skull on the ground, if it were not for Bralsa, who had rushed over to catch him the moment the creatures' abhorrent magic wore off. She could not support his weight, of course, tumbling down together with him onto the furs - but her body, and that warm, fuzzy pile underneath, still broke his fall.  
  
His eyes were still closed, and his skin was unnaturally, frighteningly cold to the touch, but pressing her fingers against his wrist, she thought she could feel a pulse, faint, tentative, like the sound a shy child makes when he knocks on the door of some powerful, terrifying adult. He was alive. Her Geldis was alive. Wait, did she just call him 'her Geldis'? Why on earth -  
  
As they lay there, side by side, barely clothed, the furs' folds pressing into their backs, Bralsa was suddenly overcome by an overpowering feeling that she had once heard a bunch of Bretons call with some smart word or other - what was it now... Ah, yes. Deja vu. It was as if something like this had already happened before - but it could not, could it? Ahh, damn that sujamma-addled brain of hers! Why couldn't it think properly?!  
  
'Oh goodness, he is badly hurt!.. And naked!'  
  
A soft, melodious voice, lamenting over Geldis' limp form, made Bralsa snap back to reality. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she saw a young (as far as thd word could be applied to meric kin) female Altmer leaning over the two of them, her hands dancing through the air over Geldis' bruised lips, her face tactfully turned away.  
  
'Gods, I hope I am not missing his wounds,' she mumbled, lighting up a healing spell. 'I really need more experience treating naked Dunmer'.  
  
'You can cover him with this, my Thane.'  
  
A dark-haired, strong-jawed Nord woman that was standing next to the Altmer thrust her hand inside the backpack she was carrying (Bralsa thought she could make out the label, 'Burdens', sewed onto it), and tossed down a black robe with the image of a scull stamped onto its front.  
  
'Who could have thought that all that random loot you keep collecting could come in handy?'  
  
Nodding gratefully (and narrowing her eyes to see as little bared ashen flesh as possible), the Altmer spread the robe over the lower half of Geldis' body and cast her spell anew, this time fully focusing on the bloated purple markings the tentacles had left on his sides. Bralsa shifted closer - foolish as it might sound, she really, really had to make sure that this self-appointed High Elven healer kept her fingers from touching Geldis' skin.  
  
The Altmer must have sensed her burning crimson eyes boring into the back of her neck, for she giggled nervously and swerved her head, her expression apologetic, and just the slightest bit apprehensive, as though she was facing a wild beast about to pounce.  
  
'Oh, you want to heal Geldis yourself, don't you?' she said squeakily. 'I... I should have a potion around here somewhere that has the same effect. You can rub it in, and the injuries should heal. Just give me a moment. Lydia,' she turned to the Nord, 'Could you hand me the Burdens, please?'  
  
The other outlander obeyed without a word, her face stiff and impenetrable. The Altmer pulled it out of her grasp and delved inside, sticking the tip of her tongue between her lips. Bralsa kept glaring at her; the only word she had registered out of the healer's speech was the innkeeper's name.  
  
'So, you know Geldis, do you?' she hissed venomously - a little startled by her own hostility. 'He never mentioned any Altmeri lady friends...'  
  
The healer flushed.  
  
'I... I met him b-briefly, when we just arrived from m-m-mainland...' she stammered weakly. 'I... rented a room from him...'  
  
The Nord cut in, her voice perfectly matching the cold, hard steel out of which her armour had been crafted.  
  
'I do not know what you are implying, Dark Elf - but my Thane and I are new to this... rock. The Second Councilor, the Skaal, the shady explorer character at Kolbjorn Barrow, and this innkeeper here were about the only people we came into contact with. We decided we should lift the curse first, and start making friends afterwards. You do realize you lot have been under a curse, right?'  
  
Bralsa looked down, more than a little discomforted.  
  
A curse was certainly the most fitting explanation; now the strange things that had been going on on the island made a whole lot more sense. And these two outlanders, the Altmer called 'Thane' and Lydia the Nord, were the ones they had to thank for breaking it; somehow, with some obscure sorcery, they had managed to end those dark dreams that had been holding Raven Rock in their snare. And she, Bralsa, owed them her life, to boot; it had to have been them who had chased the monsters back into the sea - the High Elf obviously knew magic, and Lydia had a bow strapped behind her back, together with a quiver of arrows precisely like those Bralsa had seen penetrating the creatures' glistening grey skin.  
  
And instead of showing them her gratitude, she had snapped at them. Why was she even so concerned about which women knew Geldis and which did not?  
  
'You did a good job back there,' she said, a little gruffly.  
  
The Altmer beamed at her.  
  
'Thank you so much! Here,' screwing up her face in a strained grimace, she jerked a large glass phial out of the Burdens bag and passed it to Bralsa. 'This should do the trick. Just spread it evenly'.  
  
Bralsa gave her a curt nod to show she understood. The Altmer beamed again and, getting to her feet and dusting herself off, declared brightly,  
  
'We will be off, then. You don't happen to know if there is a reward for saving the town? I...' she raised her hands to cover her flaming ears. 'I am kind of short on cash right now'.  
  
Lydia groaned in exasperation.  
  
'Oh, please, my Thane!' she cried out indignantly. 'Don't tell me you have decided to fund that weasel What's-His-Name! Didn't you see that he was trying to seduce you? And it looks like he has succeeded, too - though I cannot fathom how. He must be several hundred years older than you are; his nose could be used to dig through the ash instead of his pick; and his voice sounds as if his lungs are this close to falling out of his mouth!'  
  
'I like his voice,' the Altmer pouted girlishly. 'And you are just saying this because I refused to wear an amulet of Mara around Vilkas. He has an impressive knowledge of Nordic lore, and I do enjoy comparing his people's view on history to ours - but I could never see him as a husband. I told you that, time and again'.  
  
'And what exactly could you see that lecher from the barrow as?' Lydia asked harshly.  
  
They went on bickering for quite a while, dwelling on each of the potential suitors the Nord had pushed her Thane's way - but Bralsa let the sound of their voices fade away into a background hum, until they finally decided they should turn to Councilor Arano for the reward, and left her be. All this time, she had been completely absorbed by pouring the healing remedy onto Geldis' skin and kneading its thick, honey-like mass until it began to glow, as though there were scores of tiny torch bugs trapped underneath her fingers. When the glow died away, she saw that the ugly, swollen tentacle imprints were gone - and drew back to survey the fruit of her labours.  
  
Geldis' chest had begun to rise and fall, his breathing steady and peaceful; he looked so utterly endearing, lying on those furs with one hand resting on  his chest, that Bralsa whimpered a little. Then, barely able to believe that she was actually doing this, she lifted the black robe off his body and, taking great care not to disturb him, pulled it onto him over his head. The garment's rich, inky colour contrasted wonderfully with his ashen skin - so that Bralsa had to hold her breath in order not to cry out loud over how handsome he was.  
  
Gods, here it was again... That overwhelming, stifling longing he used to awake within her, so very long ago. She thought it would never return... But why did she have this feeling that it had already ensnared her before?.. That this was not the first time in the last twenty-four hours that she drooled over Geldis like that (not only figuratively speaking, either)?  
  
Those pounding, persistent questions were dangerously close to driving her into a frenzy when Geldis shuddered from head to toe and, opening his eyes, whispered her name.  
  
His voice turned her head, stronger than any liquor, and she prayed to the Three he had not noticed her radiant, elated grin.  
  
'How are you feeling?' she blurted out, thrusting her arm forcefully under his, to help him get to his feet. 'Can you walk?'  
  
He nodded, his eyes gleaming strangely as he looked up into her face.  
  
'I will take you back to the Netch, then,' she announced resolutely. 'Funny thing - look at me being the one supporting you, instead of the other way round'.  
  
'And us heading to the cornerclub, not away from it,' he chuckled in reply.  
  
This time, she did not bother to conceal her grin. And thus, smiling ag one another, exchanging good-natured jokes, they set off away from the stone  
  
They had already walked past the Bulwark and crossed the market square when Geldis stumbled suddenly and stopped in his tracks, his eyes rounding.  
  
He remembered.  
  
Strikingly vivid, life-like, the images raced through his mind, making the ground rush from underneath his feet. As clear as day, as though it were happening right now, before his eyes, he saw Bralsa, crouching on the floor of an empty back room, crying hysterically over her own reflection in a bucket of water. He saw her swollen, tear-stained face and her distorted, jerking mouth; he flinched in pain as she tore at her own hair, scratching the skin of her head till she drew blood; his chest rang with the echo of her hoarse, tortured sobs.  
  
So this was what it had come to. This was what her misery had done to her. This was the extent to which her former self had been tainted by sujamma. He could not allow this to continue any further. He could not feed her destructive addiction. This - this was not right. He loved her too much.  
  
'Bralsa,' he said, his voice hollow and expressionless, 'You... You have to stop coming to the Netch'.  
  
Her eyes flared.  
  
'Come again?' she asked shrilly. 'You are kicking me out? After I just patched your sorry hide? After I realized that... ah, never mind. You should be serving me drinks on the house, you fetcher!'  
  
He shook his head.  
  
'I am very, very grateful for what you did, Bralsa - but I can't have you at my cornerclub. You...'  
  
There were so many things he could have said; so many ways he could have revealed his feelings. 'You mean so much to me'; 'You are burning yourself alive, and for me, watching you is torture'; 'You can stay at the Netch for as long as you like - but not as my customer; as my wife'... But instead, he blushed, and sniffed, and pulled nervously at his beard, and squeezed out the last response he had expected himself to pick,  
  
'You are bad for business'.  
  
'Bad for business?' she echoed, blocking his path with her legs spread wide apart. 'Bad for business?! Why, I bring your hole of a cornerclub more gold than all your patrons put together! How dare you order me around like that?! If I want to spend the last of my coin on getting drunk, that's my business, not yours!'  
  
Once again, just as countless times before, he weathered the storm with most admirable endurance. When the screaming finally wore Bralsa out, and she realized that he was not going to change his mind, she spat furiously at his feet and hissed, before storming off to her shack,  
  
'I hate you, Geldis Sadri! I hate you with all my heart!'  
  
  
That evening, as Drovas shuffled around the cornerclub with his broom, he could hear the customers complain to one another that the new recipe of sujamma tasted far too salty. It did not take him long to link this to Geldis' puffed up eyes - and he wondered vaguely to himself what could have caused this. He had no clue whatsoever; the only thing he remembered before waking up at the Earth Stone was wanting to move to Tel Mythryn. But his boss couldn't have been crying over seeing him leave, now could he?


End file.
